


Hush, Hush

by romanticallyinept



Series: what's mine is yours to make your own [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domdrop, Emotions, M/M, Safeword Use, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticallyinept/pseuds/romanticallyinept
Summary: Clint shivers at the memory, and Pietro, pressed up against his chest, glances up at him, his expression worried.“You did nothing wrong,” he says, and Clint’s still halfway down, enough that he wants to disagree. But the kid’s tone is firm, and for once, Clint justlistens.





	Hush, Hush

_”Strucker!”_

* * *

Clint can hear the blood rushing through his veins. He’s hyper-aware of his every movement, of the darkness in the room, of the trembling of his own hands as he cards his fingers through his hair and tries to even out his choppy, ragged breaths. 

Pietro is in the bed across the room, deep in an anxiety-induced sleep. And Clint knows that he need to be in the bed when the kid wakes up, to make sure he’s still okay and talk through what happened, but at the moment he’s dropping too hard to do anything other than stand in the doorway, fighting the urge to flee the building and find a hideout. 

He glances at his watch and only _ten minutes_ have passed since Pietro fell asleep, but it feels like hours. The drop is paralyzing his conscious mind, calling up the fight-or-flight response and all the habits he’s ingrained into himself over the years. 

Pietro stirs in the bed, and the movement is finally what sends Clint over the edge.

He bolts.

* * *

Instinct takes him to Nat’s door. She’s _safe_ , above all else, but as a fellow Dom, she also knows how to deal with… things.

“Where is he?” is her first question, and Clint will be grateful for that later. 

“Asleep,” he answers, voice tight and rough. His eyes dart to the side, up and down the hallway, before meeting Nat’s again. “I’m not… I can’t…”

And Clint knows he’s made the right decision by coming there because Nat just nods and puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him inside her room. Inside, it’s dark and quiet, and the comforter that Nat pulls up over his body after she makes him lay down on the bed doesn’t smell anything like Pietro. 

Clint closes his eyes and tries not to think about the kid. He fucked up. He fucked up bad enough to make Pietro use his safeword, and now _he’s_ the one dropping, the one who needs to be taken care of.

“Shush,” Nat says, and Clint curls up into a ball and lets her stroke his hair until he falls asleep.

* * *

_Pietro is sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs and laughing at something Steve said, and the sunlight coming in from the window is hitting his hair just right, making it look almost transparent, and Clint has never felt more in love._

_And the wonderful thing about their relationship is that he can walk over to Pietro and slip an arm around his shoulders and kiss his hair, and the kid will just lean into it, his own arm wrapping itself around Clint’s waist. They’re comfortable with each other, both in public and in private, and it’s a gift that Clint is never going to take for granted._

_As the conversation turns away from them, Pietro leans a little bit more into Clint, until his face is all but tucked up into the older man’s neck. He makes a soft little sound right against Clint’s skin, and then, in an almost inaudible voice, says, “I want to try to blow you later.”_

_A pleasant shiver courses through Clint’s body, but it’s followed almost immediately by concern. Blowjobs are one of Pietro’s soft limits, too tied up in claustrophobia and humiliation to be an easy action for him. And Clint’s been respectful of all of Pietro’s boundaries and limits, but he knows that the kid hates the fact that he has them at all. Pietro isn’t the type to accept limitations easily, and Clint knew it was only a matter of time before Pietro started to want to explore a little more._

_“Maybe,” he murmurs in return._

* * *

He should have said no.

Clint is still laying in Natasha’s bed, facing the wall. It’s been some amount of time, hours, maybe, but he doesn’t know, because the room is windowless. Natasha’s gone and he’s alone, and there’s a raggedness to each of the breaths he’s taking that hints at just how not okay he is.

But it’ll be fine. He’s dropped before, and he survived it then, so he’ll survive it now. 

(Except before, the guilt wasn’t so overwhelming that he felt like he was drowning in it.)

He should have said no.

He shouldn’t have let Pietro push his boundaries like that. He’s supposed to be the responsible one, the one in control, and he _knew better_. 

His face feels tight from the tears that dried on it. And there’s a hollowness in his chest, an emptiness that makes him want to curl up into himself and become as small as possible. Maybe he can become so small he disappears.

* * *

_“Are you sure about this?”_

_Pietro rolls his eyes, but his pulse is ticking in his neck in the familiar way that tells Clint exactly how much his heart rate has picked up. “I’m sure,” he says, pupils blown, and Clint’s always been easy for such obvious arousal._

_“Okay.”_

_Clint lets Pietro position him. This isn’t a scene, not yet, not with the number of limits they’re pushing. The kid wants to be on his knees on the bed in front of Clint (begged for it, really, and almost made Clint lose his ever more fragile grip on his self-control), so there’s going to be no restraints, no power-play, no orders. It’s easier for Clint’s peace of mind, because he wants Pietro to be able to go at his own pace, take his time, and absolutely not feel pressured or rushed._

_So he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, naked, and watches as Pietro sits on the floor between his legs. And fuck if the view isn’t a gorgeous one: Pietro with his face upturned, mouth slightly open, lips wet, eyes wide and dark._

_“Fuck,” Clint murmurs, and Pietro grins._

_“Maybe later, old man.”_

* * *

Clint hears the door open, sees the crack of light that it lets into the room, but he doesn’t bother to move. Only Natasha comes into Natasha’s room, and he doesn’t think he wants to look her in the eye, anyway. There’s too much guilt, too much shame - he made his sub safeword, for Christ’s sake. The fact that she hasn’t kicked him out with a disgusted look on her face is miraculous enough.

“Clint?”

The voice is small, masculine, and most definitely not Nat’s. It’s enough of a shock that Clint sits halfway up, squinting to focus on the figure in the doorway. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Pietro standing there, arms wrapped around himself. He’s wearing one of Clint’s sweatshirts, and it’s too big on his thin frame so it seems to swallow him up, making him look even younger than he is.

“Kid,” Clint manages to say, wincing at the crack in his voice. He sits up the rest of the way and grits his teeth against the migraine pounding at his skull, because he has a job to do now. “Hey. How are you doing?”

Pietro’s scoff is weak, but it’s still there. “Better than you,” he answers, and it’s the kind of cheeky sass Clint expects from him. It’s settling in an odd way.

The kid makes his way over to the bed, and Clint scoots over to give him a place to sit. To his surprise, Pietro sidles right up to him, dropping his head onto Clint’s shoulder and sliding an arm around his waist. 

After a long moment, Clint lets himself lean into the embrace. Pietro is familiar against him, comforting and reassuring. 

“You’re such an idiot,” Pietro says, after a while, and Clint doesn’t argue.

* * *

_Clint’s splayed out on the bed, hands fisting in his own hair so that they don’t go near Pietro’s, because more than anything, he wants to slide his fingers in that too-long silver hair and pull and tug until the kid is moaning, and he wants to feel those vibrations all the way up into his chest. He wants so much._

_Pietro’s hands are on his thighs, fingers digging in lightly. It’s how he’s grounding himself, and Clint is a-okay with it. Every touch is adding to the experience of Pietro’s fucking mouth on him._

_It’s not an experienced blowjob, and it’s not even the best Clint has ever had. But it’s still pretty goddamn amazing. And part of what’s contributing to that fact is that Clint knows that Pietro wants this, wants this with him, and trusts him enough to do this._

_“Fuck, yes,” Clint breathes, and suddenly there’s cold air and emptiness where heat used to be._

_”Strucker!”_

* * *

Clint shivers at the memory, and Pietro, pressed up against his chest, glances up at him, his expression worried.

“You did nothing wrong,” he says, and Clint’s still halfway down, enough that he wants to disagree. But the kid’s tone is firm, and for once, Clint just _listens_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back...


End file.
